


Snowdrops: Scenes and Snippets

by Wizardheart83 (Plant_Murderer)



Series: Love That Grows [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outtakes, Short & Sweet, if we lay a strong enough foundation, we'll make it right for you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-07-10 05:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plant_Murderer/pseuds/Wizardheart83
Summary: Missing scenes/ newly written scenes from around the timeline in the Love that Grows Series. In time this will include moments that were alluded to but not shown, and scenes with characters that the main stories don't give as much time to. These are going to be short, because I'm still writing the main series, mostly under 2,000 words.





	1. Where He Stood

**Author's Note:**

> Watch for the chapter titles and summaries, If some of these end up being multiple parts or if I post part of one then start another, that's how you'll know. The first "Scene" takes place right after Along the Way, like... the next morning.

One shot- Vernon post ‘along the way’ looks at his life and resolves to fight the inevitable.

“Where He Stood”

 

Vernon Dursley was not a man accustomed to change.  He was, and quite proudly so, the latest respectable son, husband, and father in an enduring line of respectable men. His father, and grandfather, and great grandfather, and so on before that, had fought with appropriate distance from the front lines in the wars of their days. They had gone to the proper schools before that and had married the right women afterwards. They’d raised children who would do their civic duty, insofar as it could be done with little loss, and sent them off to schools of their own. The course of his life had been set generations before Vernon Dursley was born and named.  

This is all to say that Vernon Dursley had had exactly no preparation for dealing with the aftermath of a holiday that left him with the entirety of his proper adult life to re-evaluate.

He’d felt like a hero when he married Petunia. She’d been the perfect waif, abandoned by cruel parents who’d favored her younger, stranger sister. He’d been there, at the start of his career and full of all the confidence that his age and stature could lend him and he’d-

He’d walked into a feud he’d known nothing about and taken the side of the young woman who’d looked at him as if he were everything.

And why shouldn’t she have? Her father, the intellectual, had clearly filled her head with the sort of new-age strangeness that made anyone who indulged in it miserable, and her mother had allowed it without comment. He must have seemed the most stable man on earth by comparison. Imagine it, not understanding at her age that her parents could belong equally to herself and her sister.

And now she and her parents were fully reconciled, but Vernon didn’t know if his sister would ever properly speak to his wife again. Worse still, his parents had taken the time during his phone call to them on Christmas to fuss at him for letting his wife get so out of hand. It was all very confusing, but from what he gathered, Petunia hadn’t actually been abandoned. Her sister had been… how had she said it in that rant of hers? Too much.

From what he remembered of the woman, it seemed a fair assessment. She’d been strange and dizzying in her anger, Petunia’s sister; with that horrid shock of ginger hair and eyes like someone had sharpened emeralds into daggers. That was without accounting things she’d been doing in that world of hers with her wild haired ruffian of a fiancé. Showing up late to dinner with burns and flecks of mud or worse on their clothing before slipping off and coming back clean but clearly in the same clothes, though they should have been irreparable…

Vernon sighed heavily, but it turned into a laugh as Petunia brought Dudley to sit on his lap, and the boy promptly copied the gesture. He leaded his little head back and took a deep breath, then looked up as if to ask what was next.

“New’ paper?” Dudley asked, going bizarrely calm and still the way he had when Lyle had pulled one out.

Vernon didn’t groan, but it was a near thing. He used the remote- positioned by Petunia at his right hand, just where he liked it- to turn on the television and switch it to the news.

“NO!” Dudley shouted. “NEW’PAPER, NEW’PAPER!”

“DUDLEY!” Petunia called from the kitchen. Soon she was at the doorway, looking stern. “That’s not how you talk to people!”

“Little tyke knows what he wants,” Vernon defended, even as Dudley began to warm up to yell again, taking less amusing heavy breaths.

“You aren’t the one he kicks and screams at all day while you tell him it’s alright,” Petunia scolded. “He did it at Mum’s at first and she put us both in separate corners for time out. She was right to! Imagine, going through life yelling at people and being violent when they don’t do what you want!”

Vernon could, of course, imagine that quite well. It was how he did his daily business he felt both put out and shamed to hear Petunia insinuating that small child should know to do better than that. There was nothing wrong with letting people know where a man stood and forcing them on occasion to move aside. His father had taught him that, and he would not have his son turned into some weak-minded cog in the mechanisms of bolder men.

“Now see here,” he said sternly, having had rather enough of all this inward looking. “Your mum is not head of this household.”

“Of course not, dear,” Petunia demurred, and Vernon settled into his seat, happy to feel himself in charge of his home.

A small hand patted his chest, and Vernon looked down.

“Paper? Paper p’ease?” Dudley asked, focusing his big blue eyes on him with an intensity that was almost unsettling.

“Just the once,” Vernon told him gruffly.  

Petunia passed him the paper and turned down the volume on the television, pausing to run a loving hand over Dudley’s head and give Vernon a peck on the cheek.

Well, he thought opening the paper, he’d got what he wanted, hadn’t he? Dudley had stood his ground and pressed for what he wanted, and it seemed as if Petunia might settle back down in time.  How much damage could those parents of hers really do in one weekend a month and phone calls? Vernon saw his little family every day for breakfast and dinner. He’d see his boy raised just has he had been.

None of it really mattered, did it? If Petunia had been a waif, or scorned, or scornful. She’d run into his life and his arms and clung to him and become his wife. If he’d been a hero, or a bystander, or just a good man with enough to recommend him, now he was her husband. His sister in-law and her husband were dead. Petunia’s parents and were off to their home and not his concern, so long as they caused his wife no grief. The Boy, the nephew- was little more than a baby, and no more a player in all of this than his own son. The changing and rehashing of stories was for housewives and retired people. He would give it no more of his time.

Vernon Dursley was unaccustomed to change, and that was well and good as he was in charge here, and nothing was going to change without his say.

If Petunia smiled a little smugly to herself while he read to Dudley, that was her right, and he was too busy allow it to trouble him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that these will be fun, and that they'll make up some for how long it takes me to update the main story. Comment with requests and scenes that you'd like from prior to Harry going to Hogwarts in this AU, and I have a list that I'll add requests to, to work on when I get stuck as I write on In Their Sun. Also, of course feel free to tell me what you think of the scenes I post.  
> Many sincere thanks to QuintessentialCat, who gave me a ton of ideas for scenes. 
> 
> Fun fact/ Behind the scenes: an alternate title for Along the Way was "Along the Garden Path" to keep with the plant-ish theme, but it didn't flow as well, if that makes sense.


	2. Bringing up Dudley or Chores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bringing up Dudley" or "Chores" - In which Vernon recounts the way Petunia ninja'd Dudley into helping around the house with his unknowing blessing.

When Vernon Dursley had met his future sister-in-law, he’d been instantly and powerfully unsettled. She’d been so unlike her sister, unlike her parents even, and her strangeness had been just a little frightening.

When he thought on it much later, it would occur to him that his wife was more than a little terrifying in her own right. 

If Petunia had come to him when Dudley was still just three years old and told him that it was her full intention to have Dudley doing work fit for women and domestics around their home by the time that he was eight or nine; Vernon would not have allowed it. 

He’d have offered her the option of trying for a daughter or, if she particularly needed the help, hiring a service of some sort. 

She didn’t come to him though.

What she did, was subtly enlist him in rewarding their son for exactly the sort of behaviors that Vernon would never have supported, had he known. 

By the time it occurred to him to object, Dudley was a happy and helpful seven-year-old boy, who loved his cousin and grandparents and could no more be drawn away from the sorts of things that they encouraged than Vernon could be convinced to join him in his labors. It was the strangest sort of impasse, but Vernon’s dinner was always on time, his home was always tidy, and his son had never seemed any worse for his experiences, so Vernon did his best not to think about it much. 

If pressed, he would say that it began when Dudley was newly three. 

Vernon had come home to his pristine living room, and his lovely wife greeted him, saying, “Dudley’s play area looks wonderfully neat today, doesn’t it dear?” 

Absentminded, he’d replied, “Of course Pet, an excellent job.” 

Dudley, pleased as ever to see him, had run up announcing “Toys in the box! Fowded Banket!” 

Vernon, content that his son had watched Petunia work, had nodded cheerfully and agreed that those things had been done and well. 

This routine repeated itself a few times that year, but eventually Dudley stopped commenting on it, and Vernon didn’t give it another thought. It was years before he realized that  _Dudley_  had been clearing his play area, with Vernon heaping thoughtless praise on him for it all the while. 

He might have caught on in the next year or two, as Dudley got better at forming sentences and as he started school, shifting the times for chores to hours when Vernon was more often at home. He could have caught it then, but he didn’t. 

When Dudley was five years old, it became his general habit to check the box for mail in the morning, and to go outside with a garden pail to water the rose bushes before putting on clean clothes for school and settling down to breakfast. Vernon didn’t think much of this. If he asked his son, Dudley simply shrugged and said, “The flowers will be thirsty, Dad” or “I want to read the paper a little before school, in case the teacher asks.”  

It was harmless enough, and funny to see his five-year-old at the table with his orange juice and a section of the newspaper that was almost as big as he was. His little man was well on his way. 

He hadn’t had to be tricked into praising that one. 

There were mornings when Petunia seemed forgetful that year. Vernon would be sipping at his coffee when his wife would pop upstairs only to come down again, look directly at their son and say, “Give me the list, Love.” 

Dudley would squirm in his chair before (guiltily? Why ever would that be?) reciting a funny little rhyme, “Make bed, toys away, bin checked, flowers sprayed, paper in, school begins.” 

Dudley would finish his breakfast and run off to get his things for school, and Vernon would leave for work, kissing his wife and calling his parting words to his son from the door. Of course, because he left, he never saw his son emptying the trash from his room, or making his own bed. The toys were usually still in the toy chest from the night before, but Vernon was, at the time, unaware that his wife hadn’t put them there. 

When Dudley was seven, and Harry the same age, Vernon got off the phone after a brief conversation with his nephew and sat down at the dinner table. 

“I think the table looks rather nice tonight,” Petunia said, and Vernon, used to his wife’s habit of occasionally fishing for complements, replied. “Yes dear, like a restaurant.” 

Dudley looked oddly chuffed at that, but Vernon let it go, saying, “Harry had to go help with dinner. Sad that that’s what it’s come to, the lad having to help out so much. Rose and Lyle seem so young I forget how for on in years they are.” 

“Not much older than yours Vernon,” Petunia pointed out. “Harry has chores because he’s a healthy little boy who needs to learn to do for himself, just like Dudley.” 

“Petunia, what are you playing at? No son of mine-” Vernon began, growing irritated. 

“But you said I set the table good,” Dudley whined, cutting him off. “and I tidy up my room, and help with the garden. I’m learning like Harry. Mum says I can help cook a bit next year, but Harry can already. It’s not fair. I’m older. “  

In that moment, Vernon found himself looking back to every time he could recall his wife fishing for compliments, and every time Dudley had seemed inordinately pleased to have a mum who did so much for him, and the fight left him utterly. 

He’d lost a war he hadn’t thought to fight. 

Around him, the conversation continued, and Petunia explained that Harry had powers that can and did act to prevent harm or heal small hurts where Dudley didn’t, so cooking could wait a year.  And that was that. Vernon resolved to spend more alone time with his son in the future though. Perhaps he was old enough for golf now? Or wasn’t there a local rugby team? His son clearly needed some different role models. He’d make a proper man of him yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably too silly, but I had fun writing it. Vernon just seems like the sort to see what he wants to see until forced to do otherwise, and Petunia playing him like a fiddle makes up for the eyerolling I do writing his more casually patriarchal thoughts... I hope you liked this little thing. I finished two major scenes from the next In Their Sun chapter so this is something like a victory lap. Thanks for reading and for the Kudos I got after posting the first scene/outtake/thing. Next one might not be for a bit, but anything is possible.


	3. Small Steps or First Outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a slightly angstier than planned chapter, This takes place during Monkshood and Mums, around a month after Harry first met Remus, and looks at their first trip to the park, Harry, Remus, and Petunia. 
> 
> I'm not done with the Dursleys, just looking in another direction right this sec.

Remus Lupin did not look up to the second-floor window as he approached the old, lovely house, in its cozy, safe, neighborhood. 

There was no need. 

He’d seen Harry’s face pressed against the glass the first time he’d come, and this was only his second visit. He hadn’t forgotten yet, and there was no point walking with his neck at an odd angle to catch a glimpse of untidy dark hair and trusting green eyes.  

He’d really need to find a polite way to tell Rose Evans that her grandson had left nose prints on the glass though. 

Remus, Harry, and Petunia were going to go for a walk to the park, play until dinner.  They might go and see Harry’s school depending on what Harry wanted to do. 

Remus wondered what it would be like to come to this place without worrying if this was the last time he’d be invited back. If this didn’t go well, he might be forbidden to see the boy, and already Remus wondered if he’d be able to stay away. Remus had told his father about the dinner, and the man’s soft, knowing smile had stuck with him. James’s son was small, and kind, and well cared for. Even Remus’s father, who’d only rarely seen Remus with the marauders, could feel see the effect of that miracle on Remus. 

None of his dearest friends had made it through the war, not really. He couldn’t think about it without wrath and agony, but he knew it. So much that he’d valued just a decade or less before was gone, but in Harry was glorious legacy, and a new beginning.  Remus couldn’t wait to offer that boy his first glimpses of the world that he’d been born into, couldn’t help but want to see it through those startling eyes. He resolved not to let Petunia Dursley stand in the way of that hope. 

He knocked on the door to the house and took a deep breath that came out on a laugh. He could hear the thunder of smallish feet, and the distant sound of scolding. Harry was clearly ready to go. 

Petunia opened the door slowly. 

“Where is it?” she asked, her eyes flitting over him. 

Remus didn’t pretend ignorance. 

“Holstered to my back, just a precaution,” he replied. “I’ll not draw it, unless I need to, and if I need to then I encourage you to take Harry and run.” 

“I’m meant to take you at your word?” Petunia asked. Her tone was more stilted than argumentative; maybe a tick helpless. 

“I don’t know how this will work if you don’t,” Remus replied gently. “If I'm to take him to  _other_  places, I’ll need it to keep him safe. I’ve put it at my back so you’ll see if I reach for it. I can show you inside.” 

Petunia stepped back enough to let Remus in, and he obediently turned and pulled up his light sweater to show her the wand in its diagonal holder, over his undershirt. 

“Fine,” she said. Then, awkwardly, “Hello. Harry’s been excited about this.” 

As if on cue, small feet started descending the stairs. A voice called out, “Come down now?” 

“Yes, Harry,” Petunia called back, turning her wary eyes to the stairs. 

“REMUS!” Harry cheered as he bolted down the stairs and stopping to beam at him, already less shy than he’d been last time. “Dudley went with Grandmum and Grand-da to see fishes in tanks at the aquarium.   He’s my cousin. I don’t think he like fish much, but I think he’ll have fun anyway, cause Grandmum says they have ice-lollies shaped like whales.” 

Petunia winced, and Remus was suddenly very aware that Petunia was protecting her son from him. 

There was nothing for it.  What could he say that he hadn’t already? 

“Hopefully he’ll enjoy it,” Remus said diplomatically. “Where shall we go first?”

“Park,” Harry said. “Then school. Do you know how ta play football? I can show you a little. There’s a field in the playground at school. I can bring my ball.” 

“Can’t say I’ve played,” Remus told him. “Go easy on me?” 

Harry nodded and ran off to get his ball, talking over his shoulder. “Maybe Inez’ll be at the park! Ryan’s arm is in a cast now so he can’t play.” 

Remus pointedly did not look at Petunia. Her horror at him meeting another child would strain his patience and they hadn’t even left the house yet. 

* * *

 

Petunia was worried and frustrated as she left the house with Harry and Lupin. Was it really smart to be showing him where Harry went to school? Would he come for him there some day? 

Lily had liked and trusted this man once, but people made mistakes, and Lily must have been wrongfooted in the placing of her faith at least once. She’d trusted that Snape boy. 

Harry was showing none of her discomfort. Harry was talking easily about his friends and informing Remus of the incident that had landed Ryan with a broken arm (a bike accident). Remus listened with a fond smile and she hated him for his politeness and his ease. Why should this be simple for him, when she was terrified? 

“Don’t bring your friends to him Harry,” She said suddenly. “If you see them you can say hi, but he can’t.” 

Harry stopped mid-sentence, and turned to her, confused. 

“Safe though,” Harry said. “Nice. Not a monster, or a bad man. Grandmum said he couldn’t come back if he was, and she said he could. He’s like me.” 

Harry had been walking closer to Remus, though still close enough for her to reach him. Now he turned and walked closer. 

“You don’t like him,” Harry whispered, and Petunia winced, because she hadn’t met a seven-year-old yet whose whispers were subtle.  Harry’d said it remembering their last conversation about magic just a few weeks before. ‘You don’t like him’ didn’t just mean Lupin, it meant fairy stories, it meant that whole part of Harry’s life, if not Harry himself. She’d promised to try not to be afraid, and Harry was going to hold her to that. 

“I want you safe,” she replied softly. “I want everyone safe.” 

“Alright,” Harry said. “All safe. Please be nice? The park is there.” 

Harry pointed and started walking again.  

Remus didn’t, until Petunia drew even with him. 

“I want everyone safe too,” Remus said as they walked side by side. “I don’t know why you’d trust me on this or how to convince you if nothing else has, but I have to say it. I don’t know how I’ll do that if you insist on adding rules constantly. I don’t want to frighten you, but you know that if I was a ‘bad man’, those rules wouldn’t control me. “

 “I don’t know you,” Petunia replied as they crossed into the park and followed Harry to the swings. “I know Harry though, and he’s too trusting by half. That’s good, Lupin. He’s a child. He can be trusting because the adults in his life know better. If you were a- a muggle, I still wouldn’t have just handed you my nephew to go spend hours alone, and I still wouldn’t encourage him to bring you a seven-year-old girl.  Not all harms are magical. So I’ll be here when I feel I need to be. You’ll check in when you’re meant to if I’m not. Harry will tell us if you ever cross any sort line with him and God help you if you do.” 

Remus stopped but Petunia kept walking a few steps before turning back to him. He looked startled. He'd never considered the possibility that she saw the risk of mundane harms in him; that much was clear on the care-worn, horrified face. It was possible that the man was simply a good actor, but if so, he was remarkably consistent. She could see his astonishment in the saw way she’d seen the ravages of war in early greying hair and the set of his shoulders. 

“Now,” Petunia said, “go push him on the swings. And pay attention; he jumps.“  

* * *

 

The afternoon passed more or less pleasantly after that. Remus was polite with Petunia, and careful to maintain appropriate distance from Harry while still talking and kicking the ball around with the boy. When Harry’s friend, “Name’s Inez Patel, mister. I’ll thank you to let me have a go” came rushing over at the school, Remus sat back and watched. 

“Formidable seven-year-old girl,” He commented, watching her immediately draw out quite possible the only centimeter of competitiveness in Harry. 

“They grow them strong here,” Petunia sighed, then stiffened as she remembered herself. 

“I believe that,” Remus replied, thinking of Lily, but not only of Lily.  

Petunia didn’t so much smile as frown less. 

They watched Harry narrowly defend his goal, taking the ball and scrambling up the field. Now that he’d stopped moving, Remus noted the chill in the air. Fall had well and truly set in. 

“How was she,” Petunia asked after a while. “When you saw her, the day you held Harry in the picture? was that the last time you saw them?”  

“It was.” Remus said shortly. The sudden mention had made him feel all the colder. It wasn’t fair of her, to treat him like a stranger and then ask for that memory. Then again, it wasn’t exactly fair that if he honestly wanted to, he could pull out his wand and send Petunia home with the memory of having been with them the whole time, that he could have done it at any point after she’d opened the door, or even before that, if he’d been willing to break in. Life had never been fair, and it was so rarely kind that sometimes all you could do was answer a question as asked and see what came of it. 

“She was more settled than she’d been in months, and probably the calmest she ever was in hiding,” Remus said. “She loved Harry so much, I think for the first time she was alright with out of the fight, and a bit pre-occupied with working out from James how magical baby care was meant to work. James’ parents died earlier that year, or I suppose they’d have taught her. She experimented happily though, and rocked Harry and told him about friends she missed, for one reason or another, while James and I caught up.”

Remus watched her sit through the feelings that swirled incomprehensible behind her shuttered expression. 

“Alright,” she said shortly after a time, her words clipped and stilted. “It was a good picture.” 

“It was a good day,” Remus replied, not much more smoothly. 

They’d stopped talking to him not long after that, stopped writing about six or seven months later, Remus’s best guess was that they went deeper into hiding, but he supposed that werewolves were considered dark creatures, and maybe fear had done what general exposure to prejudice in the wizarding world hadn’t managed in all the years in which he and James had been close. Siri-... Black had dropped off too. There was only really Peter, who stayed in touch through to the end of the war, and well... Black had seen to the end of that. Poor Peter, Remus thought, not for the first or last time. 

“You can ‘ave ‘im back now,” Inez called out to them, and Remus laughed and waved to the woman that Inez was running towards, as Harry came back over to them. 

“Back for dinner?” Harry asked. “I need to start the rice cooker.” 

“We’ll get you back then,” Remus agreed and the three set off back to the house. 

“Shall I stay for dinner?” Remus asked Petunia quietly as the followed Harry back towards the park. 

Petunia gave a brief nod, and didn’t flinch when Harry began talking about how Remus could meet is cousin. 

  _Small steps are still steps_ , Remus reminded himself, and he watched Harry hopping out of sheer excitement.  There were more good days to be had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this. I want the next one to be lighter, and I'm turning ideas in my head but I want to work more on the next chapter of In Their Sun too, so we'll see how things go. 
> 
> Thanks for all kudos and comments, and if you want more to do while waiting on this Verse, the series I write with my best friend starts with Clear as Day, and follows some OC's through marauder era Hogwarts and beyond.


	4. Trying to Fix It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set about a month after Harry moves in with his aunt, so not terribly long after Monkshood and Mums, but quite a While before In their sun.

Harry Potter was sitting in a kitchen. His grandparents’ kitchen? It wasn’t his anymore, was it? He’d lived with his aunt for a whole month now. His kitchen should be hers, like the bedroom she’d made for him, and the garden and window boxes on Privet Drive.  

It didn’t feel right though, none of it, not yet. Harry was a visitor in two homes, and he didn’t like that very much at all. He wanted his room and his friends and his grandparents, who’d always been the warmest people in his life, for as long as he could remember. He wanted them every day and forever even though he loved his aunt. He was happy to see her, and his cousin, and his uncle every day, but he wanted all of them. 

He felt greedy when he thought about it, and lonely.  

Pushing the thoughts and feelings aside, he watched his grandmum sip her tea across the table. It was earlier than usual but he hadn’t been able to sleep and she’d appeared in the kitchen shortly after he’d sat down.  

 Harry half missed her already. It was Sunday. They’d leave that afternoon.

Before they left, there were things he needed to know. He tried to work out how to ask about them without being rude, or gossipy.  

 He’d be going with Remus to see Lyall and have dinner, and it would be best to know before then. It was important.  

“Could you help me with something?” Harry blurted out. He felt his face redden but watched his grandmum expectantly. 

“What kind of thing?” She asked. Green eyes met across the table, abiding love and experience meeting fretful but hopeful youth.  

“For Remus and his dad,” Harry said, shaking his head. He put his head down on the table look at his own cooling cup from an odd angle as he continued, “They need something. Not sure what. Can’t work it out yet. I don’t think they don’t have anyone making sure they get it though.”  

His Grandmum put a hand over her mouth, the way she did when she wanted to smile but ought not to.  

“What make you think they need something?” she asked. 

“When they came here so I could meet Lyall, he looked around like he’d woken up after sleeping too long and he looked sad when he didn’t think people were watching. Remus does too.” Harry said softly. “It’s not a soup problem, I don’t think. Not a tea sort either. You gave them tea when they came in, and it didn’t fix it. What does he need?” 

Rose opened her arms and moved back from the table. Harry took it for the invitation it was and darted into her embrace. For a moment, it was like before.  He forgot that he was a guest now; that he’d be dropped off at Privet Drive after dinner. This was home and he’d been away for much too long. When she pulled back, Harry stayed close, so she pressed her face to the side of his head and let the moment linger.  

“They’ve been taking care of themselves as best they can, Harry,” his grandmum said into his hair. “From what I’ve seen, they’ve done alright at it. We can make something for them, but people aren’t fixable. You just love them and help them when you can. You have moments tea doesn’t fix too. What helps a little with those?”  

“Hugs,” Harry answered quickly. “You.”  

“Can’t fit those in a tin, Harry,” she teased, “and you've never needed my help to bring either of those with you.” 

Harry thought about it for longer before saying, “the biscuits with the butter? But chocolate. For Remus.”  

“Chocolate shortbread sounds like something they would enjoy,” Grandmum agreed. “We’ll start after you and Dudley read with Lyle, after breakfast. Would you like to make the toast and set out fruit for when  everyone comes down?” 

Harry nodded and got started.  

* * *

Harry grinned as he waited by the door for Remus.  

It’d taken ages to clean up after he and Dudley had made the shortbread, but it’d been fun. Dudley was still learning about some cooking things but he picked it up fast. Grandmum had let Dudley make the cookies that they were taking back with them so that Harry could be honest when he told Remus and Lyall that his container had been made for them.  

His grand-da had watched some and had gone with Aunt Petunia to get lunch when the mess in the kitchen was hard to work around.  

Picnic lunch in the garden was always a treat, even with the chill on the air, and the cleaning after.   

A knock on the door brought both of his grandparents from the study nearby. His grandmum went to the door but his Grand-da pulled him away from it just a bit, drawing him into a hug. Lyle didn’t even ask the question before Harry said, “in reading, and flower messages, and stealing shortbread.”  

“You caught me,” Lyle replied. “Give us a call when you get home, save a silly old man from worry.”  

Harry nodded and turned. He waved to Remus but went to his grandmum.  

“Thank you,” he said. “In baking, and hugs, and up too early.” 

The game had never ended.  It seemed to Harry that the goodbyes never ended either, but if nothing else they’d gotten good at them.   

He turned again as his aunt and cousin came down to greet Remus, and soon he completed the odd series of circles by picking up the biscuit tin and his backpack.  

He and Remus were walking down the street before Harry actually spoke to him.  

“I made you and your dad something,” he said. 

“Is that what made your house smell so good?” Remus asked.  

“Not my house,” Harry corrected softly. “Not anymore.”  

Remus put a hand on his shoulder.  

“It won’t always be this hard, you know,” Remus said.  

“Can’t fix people,” Harry said, trying on the words. 

Remus stopped short, looking at Harry as if to check if he’d walked off with the right child.  

“Grandmum said,” Harry told him, half explaining, half hoping his grandmum was somehow mistaken. 

Remus nodded and continued walking. Harry walked beside him. 

“She’s right, we can’t,” Remus agreed, “but we try, and I think the trying helps. Don’t you?”  

Harry shrugged, weighing that against what his grandmum had said next.  

“Not sure. Is your dad happy we’re coming?”  

“Very,” Remus said, “and I am too. It’ll be good to have three at dinner again, and with a treat to look forward to after.” 

Over the hours and years to come, Harry would come to terribly unsurprising conclusion that trying, and loving were related, if not the same. They helped; more than he ever expected they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one will actually be a bit lighter and return to the Dursleys. I've started on it so maybe in the next week. This kind of just happened today. I hope you like it. Thanks for all the Kudos since the last chapter. I look forward to hearing what you think of this one in the comments. I'm also interested in what other things you'd like outtakes or short scenes of.


	5. Golf Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After "Monkshood" but before "In their sun" , Dudley goes to play golf with his dad.

Dudley Dursley couldn’t help being just a little jealous of his cousin sometimes. When Harry dressed in silly clothes and went about with people who waved sticks, he came home with whispered stories of ice-cream that changed flavors between bites, goblins, and things that flew. When Dudley did those things, it was golf day with his father. 

That was not to say that he didn’t like golfing with his dad, because he did. His dad was good at golf; better than Piers’s father by a long shot, and it was fun to see him relaxed. Dudley’s father wanted to teach him something, just him and not Harry, and that was nice. Harry had Remus all to himself. He kind of had their grandparents too, even now that he’d been properly moved in at Number 4 for around half a year. Dudley had had his parents to himself a lot of the time but now with Harry at home, and in his school, and his life... it was nice to have things that were still just his. Sharing was ok, but didn’t something have to be yours to share it with someone else? 

His dad, who was nice to Harry, but who generally let Dudley’s mum have the final say with him, was always his. That was even truer on golf days. Now if only his father could stop being so odd about certain things, it would all be just fine. 

Dudley watched for the odd moments as he came down for breakfast. Remus was getting Harry that day, though he’d just seen him when he joined them for dinner with their grandparents a couple of weeks before. They were going off to do some magical thing and, as was fast becoming routine, Dudley was dressed for golf. It was his turn to do the simpler bits of breakfast, so Dudley carefully opened two tins of pears and made toast. He started the water for tea and set out the cups before placing a tea bag in each one. His father came down and sat at the table as Dudley, in a moment of inspiration, was putting sugar in his, Harry's, and his mum’s cups. 

“Shouldn’t leave that for them, lad?” Vernon asked. 

“I know how they each take it, Dad,” Dudley said practically. “If you help me with the water, I can set them up for when they come down.” 

Dudley watched his father’s face go slightly red. The older man opened his mouth, then closed it. Dudley waited. 

“Can’t you leave that for your mother?” Vernon asked, and at first Dudley thought that he’d repeated his earlier question, but he thought about it for a moment. This was different, there was a Tone there. 

“I want to do it though. I’m a part of the family,” Dudley said, whinging a bit. “I like it when people do things for me, and it makes me happy. Harry and Mum are happy when I help them. I can remember how everyone likes their tea, why shouldn’t I do it?” 

Vernon opened and closed his mouth again. Dudley heard stirring upstairs, resigned himself to the fact that this was going to be one of “those” days, and used an oven mitt to carefully pour water from the kettle into the cups. When Harry and Dudley’s mum came down, they were immediately directed to cups of tea made just as they liked it. Dudley sipped happily at his own as they complimented him and thanked him for his thoughtfulness. His father was vaguely red and frowned to himself as he ate his pears and waited for Petunia to finish baking the scones she’d started on the night before. 

After breakfast, and Harry’s departure with Remus, Dudley and Vernon drove out the club and golf course that Vernon typically used. They carried their golf clubs in, stopping off at the dining area to greet some of Vernon’s co-workers. Dudley hung back, replying when they asked the usual questions (school, sports, and friends, in that order). He noticed that people seemed a little wary of his dad. 

That’s putting it mildly. He noticed when the third or fourth person in a button up and dress pants seemed to see them and suddenly get a pressing phone call. 

Dudley wondered why until a fellow who seemed to be coming back from the loo crossed paths with them. He’d been sitting down at his table when they approached but stood stiffly and offered Vernon his hand. 

“Carstairs, is it? Preparing for a round or two on the course?” Vernon asked. 

“Correct on both accounts, Dursley. This little chap would be your son?” 

“Of course! Takes after his father doesn’t he? So, have you finally replaced those horrid old clunkers you dragged about the place last year?” 

Dudley winced and he felt bad for the man who flushed a bit before visibly forcing himself to stand straighter and seem unaffected. Oh, yes, this. Dudley remembered suddenly why those people might have avoided them. 

“My clubs are of perfectly good make and kept in good condition,” the man argued. “Never saw the point in replacing them constantly just to have the newest thing.” 

“Department not doing well, then? There’s been talk of increasing my team. Perhaps you should leave dentist tools and come to the more successful side of things,” Vernon boasted, and Dudley, feeling more uncomfortable than he had ever felt, interrupted. 

“Drills for teeth must be smaller,” he observed. “Are they harder to make?” 

The relief on the man’s face was plain and he went on to explain that he worked in marketing but agreed that the detail work needed on the drills he sold seemed altogether quite daunting. 

Vernon steered them towards the course after that. As they walked, Dudley tried to ignore the lingering sense of embarrassment. Why was his father so mean to people? 

It seemed that Dudley was not the only one with concerns about their interactions that morning. when they reached the green, Vernon turned to him. 

“Dudley, what have I told you about interfering with business?” Vernon asked sternly. 

“I wasn’t,” Dudley argued, “Just asking a question. I tried to be polite.” 

“Polite to an underling like Carstairs won’t get you anywhere, Duds. Gotta show em you’re the sort to lead or you’ll never get ahead,” Vernon explained. 

Dudley didn’t know what to say to that, and there were words in it he wasn’t sure of. What he could work out of it didn’t feel right, but may that was because it was new. New shoes took time to settle in too. He shrugged and thought, new shoes news, and laughed at how silly it sounded in his head. Vernon sighed and led him out onto the green. 

They hadn’t been playing for long they spotted Carstairs again. This time with one of the men who’d found reason to be elsewhere when they’d walked through the dining area. He pulled up in a golf cart as Dudley swung his club sending the ball off towards the hole. 

His companion reached for his phone but Carstairs raised a staying hand. 

“Good show, young chap, nearly as good as your father I dare say.” 

“Dad’s good at a lot of things,” Dudley replied. “He’s teaching me.” 

Carstairs cast an assessing eye over Vernon before replying, “it seems someone is. Meet my old friend Thomas Mason. He’s been looking into drills for his construction company. Much bigger and clumsier than the sort I deal in, but needs must. Shall we join you for a few holes?” 

Mr. Mason laughed and put out a hand towards Dudley, who shook it. Casting a glance at his father he said, “Hello Mr. Mason. I’m Dudley Dursley, and this is my father Vernon Dursley.” 

He stepped aside and Vernon gave him a sudden, very real smile before turning to Mr. Mason. Carstairs winked at Dudley who, bewildered, smiled back and waited for the other men to take their swings before getting in the cart to ride closer to the hole. 

It was a pleasant game and Dudley found it interesting to watch his father work. Mr. Mason, as far as Dudley could see was far from what Vernon might call an “underling”. Vernon was downright charming with him. It was a touch unsettling after the morning he’d seen, but any time he seemed to become someone that Dudley didn’t recognize, the two would catch eyes and he became a bit more like himself. 

Dudley was pleased. He was helping and getting to see a part of his father that he almost never did. His dad was good a lot more than golf. When the day ended, Vernon had a meeting set up with Mr. Mason and vague plans for dinner with Carstairs and his wife in the next few weeks. Dudley was confused about if that meant Carstairs wasn’t an underling after all (and he really would have to look that word up) or if his dad had decided to be nicer. 

“We’ll have to give your mum a call before we leave,” Vernon announced as they walked towards the front desk at the club. “Let her know we’re celebrating tonight.” 

“Harry’s helping with dinner,” Dudley said, “haveta tell him too. Remus is staying for it when they get back.” 

“The more the merrier,” Vernon chuckled and Dudley grinned. The day had gone much better than he’d expected. He’d have a story of his own to tell when he and Harry talked after dinner. The world that Dudley’s father was preparing him for might be less wild and strange, but it was different than what he or Harry knew. The thrill of that, of having a world of his own to grow into, only made him feel fonder of golf days as they began the journey home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for how long this took. I hope you like it. Next up, we'll swing back further into the past than we've ever been, and look at some flowers and a star or two.... last time I got cocky and gave myself a deadline it took me 3 months so, just know that it's in the works, as is the next chapter of In Their Sun. As always, requests for other scenes will be read, cherished, and probably added to my list unless there's a compelling reason not to.


	6. Mothers Meeting or Loving Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the series, Rose meets Harry, the risks involved in loving are considered, and gentle hands have power/are magic/are everything.

There was a familiar hand brushing Lily’s face when she woke up on the 5th of August, in the flat where James and Sirius had lived in the year before she and James got married. She nearly cried before even opening her eyes. She’d missed these hands so much in the four days since Harry's birth. She'd expected to go on missing them. Apparently, James and Sirius had decided to go with Lily's plan and to surprise her. They'd had succeeded on both counts. Rose Evans had gotten close enough to touch her. She'd come to meet Lily's five-day-old son.  

Lily opened her eyes and smiled as they met their match.  

“My lively, lovely, Lily, asleep at this hour of the morning?” Her mother teased. “I’d have never believed it.” 

“Not sleeping any more Mum, Where’s Harry?” Lily asked, sitting up and looking around. Idly she reached for a shawl on the bed next to her that would let her cover up while feeding her boy.  

“He’s sleeping in the other bedroom with his father and his godfather,” Rose said, sounding a bit put out.  She helped Lily settle the shawl over her nightgown and continued, “They’re of the belief that you’d hex them if they made you miss my first sight of the boy.”  

“They aren’t wrong,” Lily said, smirking a bit. “I’ve taught them well. I want to be able to introduce my child to my mother. I only wish Da could have come too.”  

“This was risky already,” James said from the doorway. “We could only even manage it because we’re leaving soon.” 

They’d come to the flat to allow Lily to give birth with the aid of a healer. They’d been there for just over two weeks but soon they’d be leaving again. The healer could betray their position, even with the memory charm she’d consented to and been given after the birth. There were ways to break them. Someone could have had Lily’s parents followed. They’d needed Lyle to stay at home and keep things seeming normal just in case.  This meeting, this visit, was perhaps a foolish fit of extravagance, but so was having a child in the middle of a war.   

“Thank you for taking risks with me,” Lily said, reaching out for James. He came in and kissed her forehead, her nose, and her lips before pulling back and hugging his mother-in-law.  

“No love for me?” Sirius teased approaching the open door with a bundle of yellow, the baby blanket that Rose had knit months before.  

“You have my heart,” Lily replied before reaching for her son, “bring him closer, would you?” 

Sirius gave a happy bark of a laugh and handed the wrapped child to his mother, who pulled back the blanket to reveal a faintly brown, pinkish head with a light covering of dark hair.  

Lily watched her mother and thought about how wonderful it was to see this moment. She’d never watched love dawn instantly before, but there it was. Lily passed Harry to Rose almost before the desire registered on her face.  

The movement finally woke the newborn who blinked unfocused green eyes at his grandmum. Rose inhaled suddenly.  

“I know those,” she murmured softly. “Lily, he’s a gift.”  

Harry shifted his head around, crying out and Rose gave him back to be fed. Neither woman noticed as James and Sirius slipped from the room. Rose put a finger in the baby’s palm as he suckled happily and he squeezed it. It was at once mundane and full of the wonder that held separate the stars.  

Lily, feeling her self more a mother somehow now that her own mother had met her son, and more a daughter having seen the way the woman must have looked at her years before, embraced both roles fully.  

“How will I protect him, mum?” She murmured as Harry finished his meal and she buttoned her nightdress again with one hand. “There are so many dangers waiting out there. He’s so soft.”  

“You’ll do your best,” Rose replied. “That’s not always been enough when I’ve tried it. God knows I’ve not seen Petunia in months or your new nephew at all except in a picture, but you’re alive and starting families of your own, so I find it’s still a worthwhile approach. You’ve always had more than what your father and I expected to offer you. Your best will be better than mine.”  

Lily’s face dimmed at the mention of her sister and she shook her head before asking, “What will you tell Da about Harry?”  

 

* * *

Out in the living room, James was leaning against the closed door, casually guarding the entrance. He felt oddly possessive of his wife and son, but he’d known from the moment he saw Rose and Lily together that he’d made the right choice.  He only wished his own parents had lived to meet their grandchild.  

“Is everything ready for the move?” he asked Sirius.  

Sirius nodded not taking his eyes from the book in his hands.  He’d been reading up on protective charms and James was fond of him for that among many other things. Sirius was still his brother, whatever else changed about their lives and the world. 

“I took Remus and Peter and we walked around the area yesterday morning,” he reported. “No signs of dark magic beyond the old house that Dumbledore gave us notice about, and even that’s just a stubborn old stain. Wish you could have gone with us.” 

“I’ll be there soon enough,” James sighed. “And not too far from there for a while unless something changes.”  

Before the war, James would never have thought that hiding had levels, that a person could be deeper in hiding or less so. The war had shown him a lot of things he’d rather not have seen.  

“You never had a proper honeymoon, despite evidence to the contrary,” Sirius said, and James used a nonverbal spell to fling a pillow at him. “Have one now. At least you get to come to meetings still, to help keep our traitor guessing.”  

“At least,” James argued and relented all at once.  

He walked to a nearby window and looked outside. It was a nice summer morning and James was struck by the fact that five days in the world and his son had never felt that warmth on his skin.  

“Was reading to Harry while you slept last night,” Sirius said into the quiet at James’s back, startling him a little. “he woke and listened a bit before calling out. Being your son, I suspect he was plotting something.”   

“Let’s leave early,” James said suddenly. “There’s a stop I want to make.”  

“Too risky,” Sirius shot back. “I’ve only just got a godson and I’m aiming to keep him awhile.”  

“The wedding was risky too,” James argued “and so was becoming animagi and running about with Remus. This will be safer.” 

“You’ll have to pull Lily away from her mum sooner,” Sirius argued, though he was clearly beginning to come around.  

“That’s the best part of my already genius plan, Padfoot,” James grinned, “we won’t, not by much. How are you with charms to change appearance these days?”  

 

* * *

Lyle Evans was taking a walk. He’d taken up walking along the same five-kilometer route every few days not long after his youngest daughter had left school. It’d come in handy. James and Lily knew the route and sometimes left him things, innocuous-seeming hints to show that they were well.  

on August 5th a couple of hours after lunch, he was walking and thinking about his wife meeting their grandson. He was thinking about Petunia and wondering if Lily had written to her; if motherhood could bridge that divide. His mind was no less than a world away when he looked up and saw his wife, sitting on a bench he favored when he opted to rest during his walks. she was holding a baby who squirmed and cooed in the sunlight, as two strangers sat next to her, watching him approach.   

 _They_ _didn’t_ , he thought as he noticed familiar features on the child. Then he saw the eyes. They had.  

“We’re just passing through,” the man said, seeing something in his expression. “Getting a little sun with… well, with our little son.”  

Lyle sat down and focused on the baby. The woman sitting next to his wife was his daughter, but magic had taken every recognizable feature. They’d left Harry as he must have been from birth though. They’d let him see.  

It was a kindness that brought tears to his eyes.  

He reached out and touch the perfect softness of his cheek, nodding as the baby searched for it with his mouth.  Lily, disguised, looked on with barely hidden affection. 

“We’d best be off dear, you wanted to get pictures of the nursery for your parents, right?” James said.  

“I did,” Lily choked out. She gently took Harry from Rose’s lap. “It was nice meeting you both. You’re so kind.” The three walked off, a great black dog walking around the bench when James pulled lightly on a leash.   

Lyle gripped Rose’s hand tightly and stood, pulling her in the opposite direction so that they walked only had the smallest glimpse of baby Harry and his hidden parents leaving them behind.  

They were at home before they spoke again, with Rose laying so that her head was in his lap. He stroked her hair and sighed.   

“He seemed strong, healthy,” Lyle said.  

“She’s never been stronger in some ways,” Rose replied. “So young though.”   

Rose frowned and he raised her hand to his lips.  

“Then they’re a good fit,” Lyle reasoned. “A good family, all three.”  

Rose nodded and remembered the beat up flat where her grandson had been born. She held it in her minds as if remembering could bring them all back there.  

Across the country Lily pressed her face to her baby’s, both sun warm. She smiled through her tears as James held them both and kept a silent watch.   

They’d bought the place as a promise of home and peace, the lovely cottage in Godric’s Hollow. They’d held it safe and secret. Tonight, for this first night, he’d see the promise kept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started on this minutes after completing the one before it. I hope you like it. for this one, I'm working under the assumption that the prophecy hadn't been spoken yet, and didn't push them to use the fidelius charm until Harry's older, because it was common knowledge that Lily had had a baby at the end of July, and if the prophesy had been known the Potters and Longbottoms would probably have found ways to fudge it... like hiding the dates or the fact that the babies had been born alive and well, rather than target themselves.... that was a tangent. 
> 
> Let me know how you liked this lil story, if you'd want more from before the series, or if there are other scenes you'd like more detail on. Thanks for reading this!


	7. A Different sort : Hufflepuff Harry AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While I stand by my reasoning for Harry going to Gryffindor in the main series, these stories give me space to play with ideas so here's a bit from a different life, featuring the sorting and some reactions to it.

 

Finally, Professor McGonagall called out his name.   

Harry registered the whispers that followed almost before he understood that he’d been called. His name and words like “scar” and “you-know-who” moved around and through the room in a rush as Harry walked up to the stool. The sound didn’t fall away until the professor put the sorting hat on his head. Then everything seemed to go still and quiet.   

“Difficult, very difficult,” a small voice in his ear intoned. “Brave, goodness yes, and very clever. True to a fault, but I see the hunger in you. So much family, but still you thirst to belong, to be worthy…. Where shall I put you?”  

Suddenly, Harry knew where he most wanted to be.   

“With my friends,” he whispered. He didn’t want to slide into place next to Malfoy, who’d looked at him and decided his worth in an instant. If he’d wanted to belong, he’d wanted it for too long to have it tossed into his hand like a treat for following the git’s advice about who he should spend time with. Lyall was good, but today’s Slytherins weren’t him. “Not Slytherin, Not now. Put me with my friends.”  

“Not Slytherin? But they could see your worth; could help you make it known to all. Who could cast you aside then?”  

Harry shook his head. What was he going on about? He’d forgiven his aunt and she’d been there for him. No one else had chosen to leave. The chasm of his losses felt wide, but no one had really left him. He would carry them until he stood beside them again. 

“Such loyalty, young Harry. A loyalty that reaches beyond life and defies death. In Hufflepuff, you’d find friends who would return that loyalty. They would work with you, accept you, and defend you as you would them. You’d earn a place there that nothing could touch.”  

“You put my friends in Gryffindor,” Harry pointed out.  

“I separated sisters not ten minutes ago,” The hat reminded him. “Do you think that your new bonds are so fragile?  You have rested your head in many places, I see them in your mind. Let your head rest easy, with people who will return your care. Some of them, like you, carry traits of several houses. She took all kinds, Lady Hufflepuff did. She gave homes to many who’d have gone unchosen by the others, and broke many a tie.”   

Something in Harry shifted then. That sounded right and good, and he couldn’t deny that. He felt a pang of sadness. He wouldn’t be going where his parents had been. Could the sum of their best parts be so different from them? He didn’t know, but the hat wasn’t wrong. He’d be friends with who he liked, but at the end of each day, he’d go where he belonged.  

“Welcome then, to HUFFLEPUFF!”  

The room went silent. Harry took the hat off and smiled tentatively at the crowd before walking past a stunned McGonagall to the Hufflepuff table nearby. An older dark-haired student nearby began to clap, and soon the whole table was cheering. If they were louder than they’d been for Ernie McMillan, who’d been sorted not long before him, Harry figured it was because of the contrast. 

  He sat down near the boy who’d started the clapping, and on the side of Hufflepuff house table that put him next to Gryffindor, and near Hermione and Neville. He saved a place for one more but he didn’t have a lot of hope.  Ron wanted Gryffindor, and Harry couldn’t help wanting it for him.  

When the sorting finally picked up again it went on as it had before, with the hat sorting some people in seconds and talking a little longer with others. Ron was one of the last unsorted first years left standing in the hall, and though the professor called his name as she had called all the others, she could easily have pointed.  

Harry looked over to Gryffindor table as Ron walked forward. He saw Hermione, and Neville looking back, and a scattered few older redheads watching with interest. When he turned back, the hat was on Ron’s head and they seemed to be having an intense discussion.  

Ron’s hands clenched and unclenched in his lap and, just when people were beginning to murmur again, the hat shouted, “HUFFLEPUFF!”  

“WHAT?” Several voices behind Harry called out but Ron smiled tentatively and Harry returned it. Their group had split down the middle. No one would have to be alone. It was a good way to start their time at Hogwarts.  

When the feast got underway both pairs turned so that they could talk. They didn’t get much further than agreeing to meet early for breakfast before an astounded Fred and George bounded over.  

“Thought for sure you’d be Gryffindor with us,” Fred said, “you might be the first Weasley not to be in a couple centuries! How’d you manage it?”   

“It’s not a prank. Hat did it, yeah? But Harry’s here so it can’t be like people say,” Ron replied.  

“We talked more on the train,” Harry said, “I’ll look after him if I can, he won’t be alone.”  

“We all watch each other’s backs,” the older boy who’d started the clapping interjected. “It’s sort of the point of it. I’m Cedric Diggory, Same year as the twins.”  

“We’re here if you need us,” George said, quite seriously. “Ask for the portrait of the fat lady.” 

Harry felt like he was intruding and looked over to see that Neville and Hermione had been drawn into conversations at Gryffindor before turning to face Diggory.  

“Thanks for that before,” Harry said. “It was odd when everyone went quiet like that.”   

“It looks like you’ve surprised a lot of people,” Diggory said lightly.  

“They don’t know me,” Harry replied.  

He looked up at the Head table where Professor Mcgonagall and a hook-nosed, pale man were both staring at him. He looked away as he felt a sharp twinge in his scar.  

“They’ll get over it, or they won’t,” Diggory told him. “We’re your house. We’ll be here either way.”  

Harry grinned. This was going to be amazing. 

* * *

 

_Who was that boy?_  

Severus Snape had been certain that he knew everything he needed to know about James Potter’s near clone of a son, then the hat had put the boy amidst the dim and drudgery-inclined brats in Hufflepuff and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.  

Oh, he hated him, of that there could be no doubt, but the flavor and measure of that hate had changed.  

How dare he be _this_? The boy had sent his parents into deep hiding and caused Severus to defect to the light.   The boy had acted as bait for the monster that had trampled the fairest flower Severus had ever known in its haste to take his small, worthless life. The boy had caused, too late, the disappearance of that monster.  _That boy_ , who’d done _those_ things should have then risen as the hero the world sought in him, or a scholar that they could be proud of, or even - Merlin forbid-  a great power, an ambitious soul who would seek out new heights of acclaim and personal glory, but no. He would be serviceable. He would be steadfast and true, a blunt but handy instrument.

It felt like a waste of the highest order that Lily’s life had been spent to produce a drone, a pawn in the grand scheme of things.  

His only joy in this was that Minerva sat beside him, equally shocked if not so dismayed. 

* * *

When most of the other students had cleared from the Hall, leaving just one of the prefects and the newly sorted first years, one of the professors approached Hufflepuff's table. She was a shortish woman with gray, wavy hair mostly covered by a hat that had seen better days. She was smiling.   

“I am a professor Pomona sprout and I am delighted to meet you all,” she greeted them. “Let’s get you to the common room, then we’ll have more introductions and a brief chat before bed.”  

She led them out into the main hall and around to a staircase, taking them down a level before walking them back as if toward the hall, but down by a floor. The prefect walked behind them to mind any stragglers.  

 There were barrels piled near a large painting of a fruit bowl and she tapped on one in a specific pattern. The lid of the barrel opened revealing a tunnel. She waved them in and Harry, eager to see more of the school walked in and through the earthy smelling space as it sloped upward until it opened into what seemed a large cellar.  

There were low green plants in planters around the room, and flowers, and vines arching down from copper hanging vessels.  A cheery fire in a circular pit kept the room warm, though round windows all about the ceiling let in starlight and would, undoubtedly make the room just as warm and bright in the morning.  

An eclectic bunch of chairs, sofas, and even groups of thick pillows and bean bags were set around tables of various heights, and older students were already seated on them, some pulling games from nearby stacks or slipping decks of cards from pockets in robes.  

It felt instantly and fiercely like home, and even Ron seemed comfortable and at ease beside him.  

“Alright, my young future denizens of the Wizarding world, I’ll leave you to your games soon but we must meet our new additions and remember what it means to have been chosen for our noble house,” Professor Sprout announced happily. “Hannah Abbot, step forward among friends and tell us something about yourself, the rest of you raise your hand if it’s something you have in common and then Hannah, go and sit with someone who’s raised their hand.”  

Hannah told them that she liked learning languages and a couple of hands sprang up, with cries of “French” and “Russian”. Hannah sat next to a French speaker, and the group continued down the list, with “Susan Bones”.  

When it came to Harry’s turn he announced, “I’m going to study for my muggle exams in my free time.” 

At first, no one raised their hand but then Ron did, announcing, “I don’t want to do that, but I want to know more about it.”  

“I like gardening and cooking too” Harry added backing up to stand next to Ron.  

Professor Sprout, jolted by the movement, turned to Harry and Ron saying, “You’ll be walking an uncommon road Harry Potter, more so than we knew, but you are a Hufflepuff, and you won’t walk it alone. You’re welcome to help tend the plants here whenever you like. Good show Ron Weasley, your loyalty does you credit.”  

Turning back to the crowd, “interested in muggles, cooking, or gardening? Hands up!”  

“I want to know more” Cedric called, raising his hand. Hannah raised her hand too and Harry sat down between them, in a space that would allow Ron to join him.  

When Ron’s turn came and he announced his love for the Chudley Canons Harry and Cedric raised their hands but they weren’t the only ones, Harry watched Ron wave to the other fans before taking the seat near Harry.  

Then Professor Sprout asked, “What does it mean to be a Hufflepuff?”  

And one after another older students called out words, expected ones like “true” and “hard-working” but also things like “fun” and “safe” and “family”.  

When the words stopped, she introduced the prefects and the Friar (their house ghost) and let them loose to play, “quick games then off to bed, make sure the first years find their rooms and their classes in the coming days.”  

Then she looked around with a satisfied smile and left.  

Harry, Ron, and Cedric played snap, then Hannah asked Harry about muggle schooling. It was close to midnight when everyone separated and Harry went to a restful sleep under his patchwork quilt in the bed next to Ron’s. He wondered as he did about Neville and Hermione, about his parents and if their first nights at school had been so amazing, but he couldn’t wonder longer in so soft a bed after so great a meal. 

* * *

Molly Weasley was closer to an empty nest than she’d been in over a decade. It had been three days since she’d dropped the four youngest of her boys at Kings Cross, and she hadn’t anticipated how odd it would be to have just one girl and one husband to keep track of. Both were seated at the table, and she was spooning fruit over pancakes when the three of them were startled by no less than four owls tapping at the kitchen window.  

Molly met her husband’s eyes before going and collecting the letters from the four separate school owls who appeared to have raced the whole way, given their exhaustion and the fact that letters home usually took at least a week after the start of term to arrive at their home. The first days were usually too busy for letter writing.  

The three Weasleys at home divided up the letters, with Arthur taking Percy’s, Ginny taking Ron’s, and Molly herself opting to work through the tangle of twins' letters.  

After a moment of reading the chief bit of news had all three sitting down in shock.  

“He’s in Hufflepuff,” Arthur announced, brow furrowed.  

“He’s in Hufflepuff,” Molly echoed, baffled.  

“And he likes it,” Ginny said, in wonder and both parents turned to her.  

“He really does,” Ginny said, “he’s friends with Harry Potter, who got sorted there too, and there are board games and snacks in the common room and people are nice, he said. Professor Sprout is his head of house and she likes him already.”   

Molly reached for the letter, read it, and absently pulled out her wand and changed the color of the yarn she’d set aside for Ron’s sweater.  

Arthur stood and walked over to her and pointed out, “he’s got friends. He’s needed them for a while. I dare say the Potter boy will need good friends, too. 

Molly nodded and pulled out some of the yarn she’d changed. This demanded a bigger gesture. Ron was getting a homemade scarf as soon as she could knit one. And maybe a hat as well, in yellow and black but trimmed with a nice gray to soften the contrast with the reds that would surround him, Even in Hufflepuff. He  _was_  still at the same school as his brothers.  

She sighed. At least he’d be well cared for.  

“I’m gonna be a Gryffindor like the rest!” Ginny asserted firmly behind her. “Can we go see Luna?”  

And the morning went on.   

Across the country, Remus was still in shock.  

“Lily and James’s son, in Hufflepuff!” He repeated. “James is going to have my theoretical hide in the afterlife. I think I can actually hear him spinning in his grave. His only son, denning with badgers.” 

Lyall laughed at his son’s facial expression and a bit at his shock.  

“You said you’d be proud, whatever his house,” Lyall reminded him.  

“I am, but Dad, he’s so brave and just as smart. If not Gryffindor, I’d have thought Ravenclaw,” Remus explained. 

“You’re thinking of yourself,” Lyall argued. “This was shortly before I met him, so I need a little help. When Harry learned he was going to be leaving his grandparents, remind me: did he run down to argue a case for staying or taking them with him, did he go looking for information about Surrey, or did he double his chores and fill the house with rice, chopped vegetables, and clean laundry?”  

“One instance doesn’t disqualify him from Gryffindor or Ravenclaw,” Remus argued. “His grandmother called him her lion-heart. He’s always been brave. He’s always stood up to people without a pause”  

“Brave in his love, and in his forgiveness,” Lyall amended. “He’s always stood up  _for people._ It could have gone either way. If you’ve done anything to sway him it was in accepting and returning the care he gives, and your James would likely have your hide if you’d done less.”  

“Of course, you’d be sensible about it. Did I expect another reaction?” Remus gave in, begrudgingly. “At least he’s in school and excited about it all. Professor Sprout was always the closest with her students, it seemed. They’ve always been closest with each other as well. I suppose he’ll have his army after all.”   

“Let’s hope he won’t be needing one,” Lyall replied.  

* * *

 

At breakfast the morning after they were sorted, Harry and Ron sat at the Hufflepuff table. Again, they settled down on the side nearest to Gryffindor and turned with their food so they could talk with Hermione and Neville.  

“You guys should come and see the tower sometime, the view is amazing,” Hermione said. “Lots of natural light too.”  

“Dean and Seamus are alright roommates, but it would’ve been awesome if you were there,” Neville added.  

“I’m happy in Hufflepuff. There are plants everywhere, cause Professor sprout teaches Herbology, it’s warm and smells like a garden. The upper year students wanted to get to know all of the first years, so we’ve met a lot of great people,” Harry replied. “We’re forbidden from saying where the common room is or letting other houses in, but we can visit you, and there’s the library and here, and lots of other places to meet up.”  

The group made plans to meet by the doors to the great hall at breaks when they could. Hannah overheard and asked if she could study with them sometimes, winning Hermione’s instant friendship.  

By the end of the meal, Hermione was sitting at Hufflepuff with Hannah and Susan Bones, talking about languages and their upcoming classes, Harry was talking football with Dean at Gryffindor and Ron and Neville were sharing stories about their pets, still sitting at their respective house tables.  

Up at the head table, Professor Dumbledore watched this and contemplated all the plans that would now need to be adjusted.  A Potter and a Weasley in Hufflepuff had been wholly unexpected. He’d have to have a chat with the hat about his choices.  Clearly, he needed more information about the marked child, the Hufflepuff boy who would grow to equal, and hopefully best, Slytherin’s heir.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked this, I look forward to hearing from you, thanks for your support, and I'm still taking requests and ideas for future snippets and scenes. Also : I do not endorse what Snape implies about Hufflepuff. Just for the record.


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